Praying For Daylight
by Gangsta Videl
Summary: [Drabble-y] The warmth inside a cold exterior, can it really be love?


*******  
  
Praying For Daylight  
  
A/N: The Vermonter in me has come free. I nearly bought a country CD today. x_X Very sad. Instead, I got Monty Python. =D Much fun. And who *doesn't* enjoy listening to "Camelot" and "The Lumberjack Song", anyway? XD Although, it's sort of hard to write this piece and listen to talk of the Norweigen Blue... Remarkable plumage, doncha know...   
  
But, anyway. Right. I promised you drabble, did I not? So here goes. Yay for het. ^^  
  
Disclaimer: Draaaaabble. As always.. ^^v Koyasu Takehito owns it. Otherwise, there are certain fangirls that would have been shot by now. :o Oh, and Neu? LESS SCARY. T___T  
  
*******  
  
It was cold in the room. But despite the chilling temperatures, the only thing the woman could think of was not the temperature. In fact, the chill had yet to even cross her mind.  
  
Her hands slid down the cold metal machinery, loving the sensations it brought through her skin.   
  
"I'm here, Love," she whispered, her voice echoing off of miscelanious instruments. The sound rose and fell in nearly the same instrument, and the rush of air from her lips was the only noise once more. Her hands ghosted over buttons and levers, settling on the icy glass of the containment window.  
  
Her eyes flickered up, rewarded with a greenish glow that nearly burned, it was so bright. More than that, it was reassuring and familiar---and familiarity was the key.  
  
So many sleepless nights had ended up down here, in the vast recesses of science and absolute muteness. It was almost to the point where it was starting to feel as though it wasn't worth it anymore, those endless nights and the priceless dreams that could never seem to be properly fulfilled. But wasn't that why she came down here, to find herself again, her reassurance, her... self... ?   
  
In all senses of the word, the answer was yes. Yet here she stood, very much in her own body, yet lacking any control over its movements in the least.  
  
Her eyes seemed to dim, and her head bowed. How was it that she had lost her control, her ability to move as she wished? Was it even possible that she had been drawn here, not of her own accord, but of someone else's?  
  
Everything, she reminded herself stubbornly, was possibly. Destroying theories and proving age-old theorums incorrect was possible---to make a man's life completely worthless---that, too, was possible. So was it so far-fetched to think that she had been led here unknowingly, albeit most willingly?  
  
Not in the least, she thought, her face still blank.  
  
Pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she began to reminisce of times past and the moments she had so loved, spent here, in this room... This building... Day or night, it had't mattered. Science knew not of time; it was not an essential element for the testing and procedures done within these hallowed walls. To be so caught up in the concept of time was a sad ideal---the same as love, perhaps?  
  
Impossible!  
  
Her fist clenched, and she barely recognised the pain in her knuckles as she hit the metal tubing. Love was not impossible! A feeling, formed out of dependance and lust, and with the ultimate feeling of relief and safety, happiness and oh-so many other emotions,carefully rolled into one and given such a short name... "Love."   
  
To love was easy; that she had known for years. It was finding a love that could equal her own---one to compete with hers, make her feelings and ideas worthwhile---that had been the only challenge.  
  
And yet, ultimately, hadn't she done just that?  
  
The tasks she had performed, and the work she had done, mixed with those feelings and emotions she'd shared... To let them fade away into the bleak abyss of memory was a sad thing, too pathetic and (in turn) pitiful for words. Anyone who could let their aspirations, their dreams, to die so quickly had never deserved to see them come alive to begin with. She was sure of that.  
  
"I cannot let our dreams die," she whispered, barely aware of how the words were registering. It was only a passion, an empty but strong urge to speak the words allowed, that made her do so. "We came too far to turn back... I won't let this die!"   
  
Her fist connected with the tube again. "I can't let this die! I won't let you down!" Her eyes shot up towards the window, and burning hot tears forced her vision askew. Darkness, she could see it, invading the light and yet... Her soul was comforted by the shadow, welcomed it, as though it was incomplete without that bit of ruination.  
  
Defeated, the woman dropped to her knees, her hands still pressed to the side of the machinery. Her face she buried in her forarms, and she moved her head sharply to one side, allowing her wire-rimmed glasses to fall to the floor. The clack of metal on tile was something akin to a pin falling---pointed and crisp, but deeper at the same time.  
  
Under the green light, with the darkening shadow, she allowed her teary eyes to open and kept herself pressed to the machinery. Rhymes with no purpose and silly, old-fashioned sayings ran through her mind, none of them she could force herself to think or even believe in.   
  
"Masafumi," she croaked out, "Masafumi, I love you... Masafumi... "  
  
Her tear-filled eyes sought out the window, and the smallest of sparks shown in them, under the visage of the kind, expressionless face. He was so beautiful right then, like he was merely asleep and not half-dead, clinging to a world that was undeserving of his talents. It was this feeling, this warmth she felt from seeing him, that fueled her on so---a fuel that not even the fires of Hell, the fires after which she'd named herself, could ever match.  
  
Her eyes closed and she sighed. It was hard to describe her exact emotions then, at that moment, the feeling of defeat and determination swirling inside her, and the unending desire to see him alive again, even at the risk of her own life.  
  
"You can hear me." Hel spoke softly, her words unimportant compared to the message she wished them to convey, if that was even possible for a person of her calliber and magnitude to accomplish. Or was she so devoted to her art that such a thing had grown to be an improbability for her?  
  
"I won't let you die, Masafumi," she said again, her voice stronger. Her hand dropped to her sides and her fists clenched, though not in anger, but in pure determination. He had always been so strong... and if she could hold even a fraction of that power in her hands, raise it to her lips, or feel it beat in her heart, then she, too, could be as wonderful as he.  
  
"I love you... I will always, *always* love you... "  
  
Her lips pressed to the base of the machine, and something bubbled and rumbled deep inside. The smallest of smiles was sent up to him, and to his face, his presence, his very being, and Hel felt herself grow to be at peace again.  
  
They would be together again. She'd see to that herself....   
  
*******  
  
A/N: How many of you were expecting Hel/Masafumi? Hmmm? No one? Shame on you all! Is it really my fault of "Love Song" (311) makes me think of these two?   
  
... oh, probably. But they are sweet, in an evil-scientist-type way. And Hel's a lot better looking than Frank N. Furter, too... XD  
  
---Gangsta Videl 


End file.
